Steel Doors and Concrete Walls:Part 1
by BuffyAngel68
Summary: Jarod discovers new info about Parker, and gets tired of waiting for her to come to her senses.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Steel Doors and Concrete Walls--Part 1/ Chapter 1  
  
Author: BuffyAngel68  
  
e-mail: vg68@msn.com  
  
Rating: mild PG for a touch of violence and unlawful imprisonment (even if it is in a good cause.)  
  
Category: AV/S  
  
Spoilers: None, as it's original, except for the story that inspired it.(Immortal Quest at Pretender Adult Fan-Fic Archive) Tyvm DragonHeart for writing such a great jumping off point.  
  
Summary: Continuation of Highlander/Pretender X-over. I wasn't all that happy with the author's sequel when I read it. My mind went off on another track entirely. Jarod discovers new information about Parker and gets tired of waiting......  
  
Usual stuff.... characters don't belong to me, not making money, will return them to their owners in the condition I found them. Well.... kind of. You'll see.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Slumped in his computer chair, Broots sighed under his breath and continued the cycle of data searches that were his daily grind. Silently, he prayed for something to appear, no matter how insignificant or outdated, that might give them a new lead on Jarod, not because he really believed in everyone else's reasons for the chase anymore, (if he ever had), but because it might pull his mahogany haired superior out of her most recent "if there's a black cloud over my head, it rains on everybody" turn of mood.   
  
Suddenly, the numbers and sentences scrolling down his screen vanished, only to be replaced moments later by a simplistic repeating image of two silhouettes fencing against a slowly drifting, multi-colored background and underscored with the words "For Your Eyes Only." Manna from heaven Broots thought, grinning. It could only be Jarod. He rejoiced that, finally, he had something for Miss Parker that was worth risking his life to tell her about.  
  
"Miss Parker. Can... you come take a look at this?"  
  
"If this isn't a national emergency, Broots, I swear what's left of your hair will be mine. Slowly. With tweezers. One... piece... at a time." she warned in a low growl as she moved to stand behind his chair.  
  
As he knew was prudent, he kept his mouth shut and simply pointed at the screen.   
  
"God I'm getting so sick of his games! He begs me to leave him alone, but he keeps teasing me with these moronic computer messages! The day I finally do catch Brainiac, I'm having both his hands cut off so he never does this to anyone else. What the hell is this.... supposed to...." Her words faltered and faded out as she took a second, harder look at the screen and finally absorbed its true meaning, one intended only for her.  
  
"Miss Parker? Did you figure out something?"  
  
Broots received his answer immediately as Parker snatched him from his chair by the back of his collar and propelled him towards the door.  
  
"Out. You too, Sydney. Go find a German Shepard to psychoanalyze. This concerns a top secret project."  
  
Reluctantly, both men moved out into the hallway.  
  
"What's going on Sydney? She hasn't so much as cracked a smile in two weeks and now she's sitting in there staring at the screen and grinning like a nutcase."  
  
"What was the message about?"  
  
"It wasn't really a message. Just a real simple graphic and the words "For your eyes only." What is there in that that could possibly turn her mood around this fast?"  
  
"I don't know. Let's just be grateful for the change, shall we, and give her some privacy. I trust that if it turns out to be anything we need to know, she'll tell us."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Don't bitch, Daddy. You're the one who taught me that being a Parker means never having to explain yourself or your actions. I'm taking some time off. That's all anyone needs to know. You'll approve it or you'll get it approved. You always do."  
  
Dredging a last puff from her cigarette, Miss Parker twisted it brutally into shreds in the ashtray, stood and prepared to make her usual "treading on the peons" exit. "Hopefully by that time I'll be at least two hours away from here, half-way through an ancient bottle of scotch and light years from any thoughts of my job or the depression factory this place has become lately." she intoned, vague contempt showing in her eyes and a rare trace of a genuine smile briefly gaining control of her mouth before she slid another cigarette between her lips.  
  
Rising from his chair a moment later, her father moved slowly to her side, a forthcoming lecture evident in his expression as he ushered his daughter to the door.  
  
"You do know you're on the verge of an official reprimand about those... things, don't you? Did you think noone noticed the way you deliberately light up around Doctor Raines? You crushed one out on his oxygen tank day before yesterday, for God sakes, and for the past week you've been tossing lit butts in his not so general direction every time you see him. I think you've forgotten that proper discretion is what's kept you and I breathing and free from mortal wounds this long."  
  
Halting abruptly in her tracks, his daughter whirled on him, eyes blazing with an intensity he'd never witnessed before.   
  
"Big Chief Gasping-For-Air can go tell horror stories to Darth Vader and the Emperor by a cozy campfire in hell. And as for you, I'd suggest you learn the difference between discretion and ignoring the guy with the hockey mask and the knife, before someone brings the hammer down on you like yo... like it came down on Mother and the Triumvirate decides it's no longer prudent for you to.... keep breathing."  
  
Feeling her stress level drop several points, Parker said her goodbyes, dropped a perfunctory kiss near her father's cheek, wafted a significant cloud of smoke directly at a surveillance camera and took her leave.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"You... You're just going? You're leaving without notifying anyone? How is that even possible right now? The three of us are never out of sight of security anymore. Lately I get the feeling somebody's keeping count of how many hairs I lose every day."  
  
"Just another difference between you and me Broots. I was learning how to cultivate influence and turn it to my advantage while you were figuring out which shoe went on which foot."  
  
"You know, someday you and I will find time to go through that anger management course I'm always promising you, Miss Parker." Sydney remarked, smiling lightly.  
  
"Thanks, a whole heap Syd, but I like my anger. I feed on my anger. Nothing more satisfying than reveling in a fit of pure rage and beating the hell out of someone who really deserves it."  
  
Turning back to the computer, Broots tried to ignore the opening Parker had left him, but wasn't able to resist for long.  
  
"If that's your idea of fun, I'd hate to be the guy showin' up at your door for a date."  
  
Knowing something was coming, Broots was able to brace himself so that the hard slap Parker delivered to the back of his head wasn't quite as bad as it might have been. "Hey. It's fallin' out fast enough on its own. It doesn't need any help."  
  
"You don't know how lucky you are I'm in a good mood. If this were a typical day you wouldn't have a head left. I'm out of here, Syd. Remember. Wherever you are when they come looking for me...."  
  
"You're somewhere else."  
  
"I can always count on you, Sydney."  
  
"Wait. Why won't you, at least, tell us where you're going? What am I supposed to do if I need to get in touch with you?"  
  
"The only thing you'll need to talk to me about is Jarod, and I doubt even he would be uncouth enough to interrupt the first vacation I've had in eight years. Besides. Even I'm not sure where this trip will lead me just yet, and I want it to stay that way for awhile."  
  
"And you'll be back....."  
  
"When I walk through the door." Parker shot over her shoulder as she strolled toward the elevator that would take her to the parking garage, her car and whatever lay ahead. A yard or two from the doors, a familiar, and despised, shudder racked her frame. Over the years she had learned how to hide it well, so the men watching her go noticed nothing but, perhaps, a tiny hesitation in her gait.   
  
She punched the down button and stepped back, her system on the edge of overload. Incensed at herself, Parker viciously fought her terror and the self-hatred engendered by the mere presence of that emotion. She gazed down at her hands, watching them tremble for only a split second before she was able to bring them under control again.  
  
All this she was, by now, able to conceal very easily from the outside world. Despite what, or who, her body and mind tried to tell her was waiting for her in the elevator, all anyone else would see was a strong, ultra-confident woman striding into the small steel box; a top Centre operative who often put the fear of God into others, but kept her own private horrors deeply buried.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
{Finally,} Parker sighed, refocusing her sapphire eyes on the asphalt ahead as she expertly steered her car through a particularly challenging stretch of road, {finally I'm starting to wind down. It's taken three days but it's damn well been worth it. I really had no clue how badly I needed this. I can't wait to see how this trip turns out. Too bad I can't skip to the end of the book, but then I'd be depriving him of his fun. Can't very well do that.}  
  
Reveling in the luxury of the convertible she had rented for the journey, Miss Parker sprinted down the South Carolina coastline, the trees she passed filtering the late morning sunlight into swiftly changing patterns on a paintjob nearly the exact shade of her hair. As usual, her speedometer read fifteen miles over the speed limit and, also as usual, she wasn't paying enough attention to care, perceiving things like cops and tickets to be only minor nuisances that were always handled by the Centre.  
  
Despite her stated wishes when talking to her father earlier, the three bottles of vintage whiskey she carried remained sealed and secure in her bags, which were carefully stowed in the trunk.  
  
As she slid a little further down in her seat, relishing the stillness and serenity settling deeper into her with every minute, she realized, to her great surprise, that she was only on her third cigarette in nearly as many hours of travel, confirming her long held suspicion that she really only smoked as a release valve for the pressures of her job.   
  
Not for the first time in recent months, she let her mind drift through the many self-help and professional stop-smoking options she had heard of, been offered or actually tried, but quickly reminded herself that there were probably at least thirty people, if not more, who, though her frustration often tempted her sorely, she had not beaten to a pulp because she had had her no-filter best buddies to turn to. This understanding eventually drove all thought of not smoking out of her mind, as it always did.  
  
Scanning the highway signs in the distance she quickly found the one she needed, slid the car into the correct lane with practiced ease and made her way toward Charleston airport.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
SEACOUVER: WASHINGTON STATE  
  
"You're absolutely mad. I've always known that, I think, but you just confirmed it."  
  
"Mad for her. Nothing wrong with that."  
  
"Half a hundred people must have seen that message by now. How could you even think....."  
  
"Methos. Drop it, okay? It's done. I guarantee she's the only one who saw it or ever will see it. He gave me the instructions on deleting anything so it can never be retrieved, and I gave them to her. Right now the message is buried in the ninth level of hell. We're perfectly safe and so is she."  
  
"After what you told me about her, I'm a great deal more concerned about   
us than her."  
  
"You know damn well that those people would kill her like stepping on an   
ant and give it less thought."  
  
"Of course I do, but....."  
  
"And you know me as well as anyone ever has."  
  
"Sometimes I wonder."   
  
"You know me." Macleod repeated with emphasis, waiting for the answer he wanted.  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
"Then what makes you think I'd ever put her in danger?"  
  
"I never said you would. It's her bosses that terrify me. Until I discovered that place I thought I'd seen the worst one mortal could do to another. Those people make Josef Mengele look like a bloody saint. And there is a point you seem to be, very conveniently, ignoring. She's one of them."  
  
"She used to be. Jarod thinks he's finally getting to her. His theory is that once he destroyed a few of their lies for her, she started to see them for herself, without so much help from him."  
  
"You're fooling yourself, mate. She lived that sickness from the time she could walk. It's all she knows. If she ever did accept the truth about what the Centre really is, what they do, she wouldn't have a leg to stand on. It'd be like bombing the foundation of a house. Everything collapses into a ten-foot hole. What if she can't climb out of that hole, Mac? What if every truth she learns is one more stick of.... TNT in the underpinnings of that young woman's emotional and psychological stability? If Jarod does succeed in completely pulling off her blindfold, that could be the match to the fuse."  
  
"You never met her. How can you even guess at how strong she is? He knows her backwards, forwards and inside out, her breaking points included."  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"I only met her twice. Why would I?"  
  
"If you're determined to help him with this insane con-game, you have to know her almost as well as he does. If I were you, I'd take that dossier he sent you, go in a quiet room and start studying."   
  
"I looked it over. Trust me. I'm ready."  
  
"No. You aren't. Knowing what to do and say is only half the tennis match. You have to understand what not to do and say. The wrong word at the wrong moment of extreme stress could unravel everything you're trying to accomplish, and do a thorough Humpty Dumpty on her as well. As I understand the point of this little exercise, it is not for this Miss Parker to end up drooling on herself in a nursing home somewhere."  
  
Hefting the manila envelope containing the dossier, Macleod's expression darkened considerably. He paused for a moment, as the weight of what he held in his hands transformed into a heavier understanding of what he and Jarod were about to do, then turned and headed for his bedroom, tucking the papers under his arm as he went.  
  
"If you don't see me by six, order dinner in. You're buying."  
  
"Of course. What else? The man never picked up a check in his life. Why should he start now?"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
A FEW HOURS LATER: DALLAS. TEXAS  
  
"I'll take your bags ma'mm. This way please."  
  
"Hold it. My bags don't go with anyone not in an airport uniform."  
  
"Pardon me, ma'mm. I should have introduced myself. I'm Seth and my employer is the gentleman who owns that Lear right over there. I was sent to make sure you made it to the plane safely and provide you with whatever you might need while we're in flight."  
  
Although her instincts were beginning to whisper warnings, she ignored them until they grew quiet, knowing she had let herself be drawn much too far into the game to beg off now, even had she wanted to.   
  
"What about the...."  
  
"Your car will be perfectly safe. It and the keys will be waiting for you when you return."  
  
Growing more and more intrigued, but realizing that someone somewhere probably had a schedule to keep, Parker dug in her bag for her wallet, handed the young man a credit card and headed for the jet.  
  
"That will cover all rental fees while I'm gone." she tossed lightly over her shoulder, slowing a little as the mystery man caught up to her and slipped the card back into her purse.  
  
"That's alright, ma'mm. There won't be any. The car belongs to you now. My employer's been in contact with your rental agency. They were told that whatever automobile you chose to rent he would pay the agency the full blue book value of. The papers are waiting for you on the plane."  
  
Abruptly, Miss Parker stopped dead in her tracks and waited for the porter to notice. After an additional step or two, he did.  
  
"Is something the matter, ma'mm?"  
  
"Explain."  
  
"Do you enjoy the car, ma'mm?"  
  
"Of course I enjoy the car." she responded after a brief pause.  
  
"Then what more explanation do you really need? My employer merely wanted to compensate you for your gracious agreement to come on this trip."  
  
Shaking her head slightly, Parker began walking again. Once on the plane and safely belted in, she searched for and found copies of the convertible's registration, insurance and title in a pocket on the aisle side of her seat. She looked them over carefully, noting the correct information in the correct places on each form.   
  
Her instincts began to tug at her again, their voices quite loud now, and for the first time since she had received the message four days ago, she began to pay attention. Within moments however, she found herself fighting a series of deep yawns she couldn't stop. Assuming it was nothing but the natural effects of three days of hard driving, she surrendered to sleep less than twenty minutes later.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"My, you listen well. I've told you probably a hundred times now that I want nothing whatsoever to do with this preposterous..... whatever it is that you two are cooking up."  
  
"It has to be you. I already explained that." the younger man mumbled, his attention focused on the meal he was preparing.  
  
"Am I the only acquaintance of yours that this woman hasn't seen? No. Does it really, therefore, have to be me who risks a bullet in the back of the head picking this woman up at the airport? No."  
  
"I never do anything without a good reason."  
  
"And this time...."  
  
"I actually have several. One; I would ask Joe but I don't want him involved in this if it isn't absolutely necessary, two; she loves a U.K. accent and three, she lands in forty-five minutes" Macleod responded, gently taste-testing the broth he was concocting, "so there isn't time to call anyone else."  
  
Carefully cleaning his fingers, he tossed the car keys and his wallet to his friend. "Take one of the credit cards and rent a limo. Nothing too top-of-the-line but don't make me look like a skinflint either. There's a uniform in my closet and the map is on the bookcase on your way out. And don't even think of playing big spender on my money just to get back at me. I expect my car and my wallet back today, not three days from now like after the last fight we had!" Mac shouted towards the bedroom where Methos was retrieving the dark suit and hat necessary to play his part convincingly. As he passed the stove where Mac was working, Methos went into a creditable drag queen impression.  
  
"Now, sweetie. You know I wasn't really mad at you. Shopping just makes me crazy. I lose all track of time when I'm trying to decide which pair of lace undies my teddy bear would like to see me in the most."   
  
Kissing Macleod soundly on both cheeks he flounced out the door.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
SEACOUVER  
  
Just over six hours after she had first stepped onto a commercial jet in North Carolina, Parker was shaken awake, none too gently, by the touchdown and braking efforts of the Lear as it, and she, arrived at their destination. Slowly dragging herself upright from the position she'd slid into in sleep, she scrubbed her eyes with her palms briefly, grimaced as she stretched out the kinks and tried to push back the slight headache she'd developed, then reached for the window shade to get a first look at her new environment, but the plastic square wouldn't move. Bewildered, she tried several more times, before literally punching the call button above her seat, bringing her baggage handler\major domo to her side within minutes.  
  
"We should be ready for you to disembark in just a few moments, ma'mm. Is there something you need before then?"  
  
"To know where the hell I am. I..."  
  
"Yes, ma'mm. I see your dilemma. The window shades are always kept locked down electronically for security reasons. This beauty has transported some very well known people who treasure the privacy we can provide. Even if the shades were operational, it wouldn't do you much good I'm afraid. This is a private airstrip, very nondescript; no landmarks or such things nearby." the man explained, cocking his head as if listening closely to something virtually silent.   
  
"I believe we've stopped, ma'mm. If you'd like to gather your things, I'll head up front and assist the crew with the doors. By the time you get to your limousine, your luggage should already be there."  
  
Her razor sharp mind now kicking back into gear, Parker considered voicing several of the million and one questions that were swiftly coalescing into an interrogation diagram in her head. Instead, knowing she usually got answers when she wanted them, she decided the potential for an amazing few days with her Scottish mystery man was more important, gathered her handbag with the car papers inside and strolled out the door of the plane.  
  
As she drew closer to the waiting stretch limo, Parker slowed a bit, giving herself an extra moment or two to study the man positioned behind the already open rear door. She noticed nothing particularly unusual about him until she was within a step or two of the car. There she was forced to stop, her expression registering deep shock and confusion, as if she had suddenly been confronted with a wall she could feel and sense but not see. The man exuded an aura of power and wisdom that flowed from him like steam, the intensity of it almost enough to knock her flat. Her mind went numb, unable to provide her with a simple clear thought, never mind a reasonable explanation for what she was experiencing. Her legs following the lead of her brain, Parker began to back away, stopping only when she was certain she had gotten beyond the limo driver's bizarre sphere of influence. Turning away for a moment, she gathered her wits and calmed her breathing before facing the man again.  
  
"What in the name of God are you?"  
  
"Pardon? I'm afraid I don't understand. Are you alright? You're white as a sheet. There's a fully stocked bar in the limo if you...."  
  
"Understand? Noone could possibly..... Why don't you go get in the driver's seat? I'm sure I can close the door myself."  
  
"Are you sure, Miss Parker? If you're ill I should get you to a doctor....."  
  
"I'm fine. Just go." she directed, not daring to move until he was safely on the other side of the car. "If I do happen to want something that isn't here, who do I ask for?"  
  
"The name's Adam, miss. Just use the page feature on the car phone if you need anything." Methos responded as he slipped into the driver's position, his mind whirling with confusion over what had just occurred.  
  
"All I need right now is a drink and a little peace and quiet. Later on might be a different story."  
  
"Of course, miss. Sit back and enjoy the ride. The drive shouldn't even take an hour if I've figured it right. As long as no complications pop up, we should be there well before nightfall."  
  
Quietly closing the window that separated the driver and passenger compartments, Methos started the engine and maneuvered the unwieldy vehicle out through the gate in the chain link fence and onto the highway, his thoughts still refusing to settle on anything but her reaction to his presence and the possible repercussions on what Mac and Jarod had planned. Feeling more and more ill at ease with what he had seen, he slipped his cell phone from his pocket and rapidly dialed Mac's private line.  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Prepare yourself, my friend. We need to have a long talk when I get back."  
  
"You sound shook up. What happened? Is she...."  
  
"She's right here. Everything's on schedule. Well... almost everything."  
  
"Almost. Is this one of those times when I should be really afraid of that word?"  
  
"I don't know yet, but I'd say it's a damn good wager. I'll see you soon."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"It's impossible. You know damn well it's impossible."  
  
"Say it enough times and maybe you'll start to believe it. I'm telling you she knew." Methos repeated, pacing towards the windows that faced the street. "Admittedly, she had to get a lot closer than you or I would have, but the result was the same. I've seen it too many times not to recognize it when it's right in front of me." he insisted, turning to march back toward Macleod; running his hands through his hair, his face a clear study in brooding concern.  
  
"She knows something odd happened. Nothing more. Relax, will you? Everything's been flawless so far. We got her to the house. Now Jarod and I take over. Nothing else to do."  
  
"Yes. Well, I did my part, pal. I'm out of it. Matter of fact, I think I'll fly to Las Vegas and stay completely blotto until this thing is over."  
  
"Have a good time. Stay in contact so I can let you know when she's on her way home."  
  
As he gathered his own coat from the living room closet, Methos threw his friend a withering glare.   
  
"If she ends up in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest- Part II" don't bother. This is one time I truly want to be wrong."  
  
"You are. She'll be fine."  
  
"I hope so, mate. You and Mr. Mensa hold that woman's mind in your hands. Don't drop it."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
BLUE COVE:  
  
"I promise you that I don't know. She strolled in here, declared she was going on a vacation and refused to give me any details. Yes. I understand that, but.... Yes, of course the rest of the team is still working on..... No, I didn't fight her on it or order her not to go. Because I see her every day, and I know what the stress has been doing to her lately. When she begins to intentionally antagonize Raines, she needs time off. I agreed with her decision. Yes. I'll deliver the message when she returns."  
  
Fighting an intense desire to throw the entire phone across the room, Mister Parker dropped the receiver softly into its cradle, bringing an end to the sixth call he'd received in four days demanding to know his daughter's whereabouts. He knew he had to find her soon, or he risked censure and she risked being placed firmly in Jarod's shoes. Rising quickly, he walked out to the elevators, intent on paying another visit to his daughter's two constant companions and determined that this trip would be more fruitful than the last one.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Sydney."  
  
"Please come in, sir. I'm afraid there's been no news. Miss Parker hasn't been heard from since she drove out of the gates three days ago. Have a seat, won't you?"  
  
"I understand that, Sydney. If there had been any sign, the calls I've been receiving would have stopped by now. What I want to hear about is the day she left. I want every detail of every moment she spent in this room before she came to see me that afternoon. Every detail, no matter how insignificant."  
  
"I'm not sure what you mean, sir. It was a normal day." Sydney deferred, offering the older man a cigar, even going so far as to light it for him. "Perhaps she was a bit more subdued than usual. I've noticed she hasn't quite been herself of late."  
  
"On the contrary. She's been more herself than usual. That's what has me worried."  
  
"If I were forced to put a label on it, I'd say she's been mildly depressed. She's had good reason. The search for Jarod isn't going well and her mother's death has been preying on her mind much more than usual in the past few weeks. In my professional opinion, she took this trip at exactly the right time. The depression would only have worsened if she'd stayed."  
  
"My daughter doesn't get depressed. She gets stronger; more determined. Walking away like this.... it isn't like her. I want to know where she went, Sydney."  
  
"As I said, sir. Nothing at all unusual occurred the day she left. I'm afraid Miss Parker told us no more than she told you. I can only guess that she simply needed time away. We all do occasionally."  
  
After staring intently at Sydney for several moments, the other man tapped a pile of ash off his cigar and rose from his chair.  
  
"You know more than you're saying Sydney. If she isn't back within forty-eight hours, we'll talk again."  
  
"What makes you think I'd keep anything from you?"  
  
"You're a brilliant man. All brilliant men know enough to maintain some secrets."  
  
"I care for your daughter as deeply as you do. I would never knowingly keep your chi...."   
  
Suddenly flushed, Sydney silently acknowledged the words that had been about to leave his lips, and forced them back down his throat, painfully aware that Mister Parker knew perfectly well what he'd been about to say.  
  
"We all do what we do knowingly, Sydney, even you. Regret is unproductive and so is sanctimonious wailing over things too far in the past to worry about. Focus on the present. Your job is not to sympathize with Jarod or the others. Your job is to comply with your orders and achieve results."  
  
"And your job?"  
  
"The future. I have a vested interest in the ultimate survival of the Centre and I will not let Jarod destroy everything that I and the others have sacrificed so much for. Forty-eight hours. Find her for me, Sydney."  
  
Turning on his heel, the older man strolled out of the room, smoke trailing lazily behind him. Sydney watched him for several minutes before sliding open the center drawer of his desk and retrieving the journal he had begun not long after he had recovered his sight. Grabbing a pen from the same drawer, he began jotting notes to himself in an ancient language he read and wrote fluently, but that he was fairly sure noone staring at a security monitor would be able to decipher.  
  
[ What about Catherine's sacrifice? Did she die for your ambition or for someone else's agenda? I wish I could believe any of us will ever discover all the answers that will let us sleep without benefit of nightmares. The Centre does some little good still, but I can't allow myself the luxury of ignoring the depth of corruption here any longer. The rot has set in, and I think I can see where this will all end. Surprise, Mr. Parker. I'm discovering my own vested interest. Jarod remaining on the outside may be the true key to bringing down our little corner of Hell. He must stay free. I must see to it. ]  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
SEACOUVER:  
  
In sharp contrast to Methos' deep concern for her welfare, Miss Parker, in just the few hours since her arrival at the house, had managed to push the incident at the airstrip completely from her head in favor of exploring her surroundings.  
  
Now, after an excellent meal, and with the dregs of a superior bottle of red wine at her hip, she lazed by a low fire, top-quality headphones delivering her favorite Chopin sonata, her eternally on-guard body releasing the last of its tension into the pillows succoring her shoulders and low back.  
  
For the last forty minutes or so she had been debating whether to add one more stick of wood to the fire, part of her wanting the moment to last, the fire to continue; the other part deeply enjoying the near hypnotic relaxation that often accompanies watching a fire die. In the end she chose to allow it to fall to embers while she drifted in and out of a pleasant, light stupor, her eyes following the perpetual ebb and flow of ruddy light among the coals with increasing effort.  
  
Once he was certain her eyes had slid shut in true sleep and wouldn't open again easily, Jarod slipped out of the shadows and glided to her side. Silently moving the wine bottle a safe distance away, he knelt by her and drew a soft cloth from his pocket. Dampening it slightly with the liquid from the vial he carried with him, he gently pressed the fabric over her mouth and nose. Although she struggled vainly, the wine and her tranquil state betrayed her, as Jarod had hoped would happen. Her body unprepared to fight the chemical onslaught, Parker surrendered in mere seconds and tumbled into profound darkness.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	2. Chapter 2

Part 1/Chapter 2---  
  
FOLLOWING MORNING-- BLUE COVE:  
  
Fuming, Mister Parker stared at the ringing phone, deeply resentful at the interruption to his work. Although he was strongly reluctant to answer it, he knew who was on the other end and also knew the consequences if he didn't pick it up. He allowed the annoying device to buzz once more, then threw down his pen and grabbed the handset, carefully tempering all irritation from his voice before he spoke.  
  
"Good morning. What can I do for you?"  
  
"That's gracious of you, but I think you've done more than enough for me and to me already, don't you?" Jarod responded lightly.  
  
"Jarod? What the...."  
  
"Very good. I didn't really expect you to recognize my voice. We never saw each other all that much."  
  
"Sydney and my daughter may tolerate your games, son, but I'm not them. Can I take this call to mean you've seen the error of your ways and you're ready to come home?"  
  
"You know better than that. I hope you also know better than to try and trace this call. It won't do you any good."  
  
"Yes. I know that all too well." he tossed back, his hand halted in mid-air, halfway to the button that would have begun the futile trace. "Look, my boy. If you haven't changed your attitude, then get to the point would you? I have work to do."  
  
"I imagine you do." Jarod replied darkly. "I just wanted to let you know that she's alright. She'll be out of contact for another few days, but she's alive and whole and I promise you she'll stay that way."  
  
The hair at the nape of his neck suddenly stiffening, Mister Parker straightened in his chair, his full attention now on his caller.  
  
"She? Who are we talking about, Jarod?"  
  
"Now who's playing games? I've done my duty. You'll get another call once she's on her way back to you."  
  
Jarod disconnected without another word, leaving the Centre's CEO arguing with the dial tone and studying the receiver numbly. After several minutes of stunned silence and bewilderment, he shook himself out of his lethargy, dug out a small black personal phone directory and began to dial.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
SEACOUVER:  
  
Late that afternoon, Parker woke to the sounds of a heating system kicking in somewhere in the walls of the room where she lay waiting for full consciousness to re-establish permanent residence in her brain.   
  
Gradually her senses whirred back into gear and began giving her a better sense of where she was and what was happening. Carefully sliding her eyes open, she quickly realized that she was still in the silk penoir set she had worn the night before, but someone had thoughtfully added a velvet robe and heavy socks to her ensemble. Pushing herself upright on the firm mattress she threw off the heavy quilt that had been laid over her and proceeded to make a thorough search of the vaguely familiar room in which she had awakened.   
  
It took only a few moments to complete a circuit of the tiny space. She found nothing that would give her any clue to how she had gotten there; the room contained only her bed, a chair, a large table and a nightstand with a cell phone, screened off bathroom facilities and her luggage neatly tucked into a corner. A full set of clean clothes had been laid carefully over the back of the chair and the outfit she had worn on the plane was nowhere to be found. In deference to the mild hangover that was just starting to announce its presence, she took one last look around, then walked back to the bed and sat down heavily.   
  
When her stomach and head finally stopped whirling, she rose cautiously and wandered over to the door, intending to make her way into the main house and find a few answers and a bathroom with a medicine cabinet. After closely examining the door, however, she immediately realized that an upset stomach was by far the least of her problems.  
  
Panic just beginning to surface in the nether regions of her mind, Parker mentally stomped it flat and quickly ran her hands over every inch of the smooth surface she could reach, searching for a tiny crack, flaw or defect that might be the key to her release. Finding nothing, she stepped back, turning in a slow circle. Though she fought against it with all the hate and anger she possessed, the realization of why the room had, at first, seemed subtly familiar finally hit her. She had stood in one like it many times before. With the understanding came a rage and a terror such as she had never felt before.   
  
For several minutes she stalked the room, punching, pounding and kicking her helplessness and fury into the walls and door until she ended up crouched in the middle of the small space, head down, cradling bruised hands and recovering her breath. Her rage now consumed, the fear took over. Suddenly thrust into the reality of a world she had always felt a part of as a girl, but had never truly been allowed to touch, her conscious mind recoiled then shut down completely. Backing into the edge of the bed frame, her knees failed her and she collapsed. Scrambling fully onto the bed, her legs tucked close to her body, she clutched for the discarded quilt, wrapped it loosely around her and allowed her eyes to close as she tried to control the shivering that wracked her body.  
  
Somehow, Jarod had recreated a detailed replica of the Centre cubicles where he and hundreds of other Pretenders had slept, eaten and simulated their way through the past thirty or so years. Somehow, he had learned about her encounters with the enigmatic martial arts master and had used the information to tease her into walking into a situation of his making; one where he felt he might finally regain some small measure of what had been stolen from him by stealing her freedom from her.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
"Good afternoon. Hello? Is anyone there? Jarod?"  
  
"Hello, Sydney. I suppose you've heard by now."  
  
"Of course. I won't ask for an explanation. I trust you have your reasons and I know you won't harm her."  
  
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."  
  
"I should warn you; the intensity of the search for you has been stepped up considerably. If anything does happen to her...."  
  
"You said it yourself, Sydney. I could never hurt her. Besides, I'm working with a professional."  
  
Curiosity sparking in his voice with each word, Sydney gave in to the demands of his ever-inquisitive mind.  
  
"I know I said I wouldn't ask, but..."  
  
"It's alright. You were always the only one I told my secrets to. Why stop now? It's all a matter of holes, Sydney. Gaps in the soul. Slowly but surely, I'm filling in all mine. It's only right I do the same for her."  
  
"You've been helping her immensely from a distance for years now. What changed?"  
  
"Everything. I found out that our Miss Parker isn't what, or who, she thinks she is. Once I fill in a few of those holes, she'll understand. After that, we'll just have to wait and see."  
  
"I think I need a translator." Sydney joked, chuckling lightly. "For once, you're being too cryptic even for me."  
  
"New information requires a new battle plan, Sydney. Keep an eye on your mail and keep trusting me. Give my regards to Broots."  
  
"I will. Take care, my friend."  
  
"Always."  
  
Flipping his cell phone closed, Jarod turned to the lean dark Scot sitting beside him and studied him for a long moment, assessing his mood.  
  
"Last chance. You're positive you can do this?"  
  
"Absolutely. Has she calmed any yet?"  
  
"Some, but not as much as I'd like. We'll give her another ten minutes." Jarod replied, glancing briefly at the monitor carrying the camera feed from the cubicle. "It's strange to see her like this. I was ready for the anger, but...."  
  
"Fear is a powerful weapon. Thank God she's had survival drilled into her almost from birth. Waking up in there could have turned anybody's mind into so much shredded wheat."  
  
"Anyone but her."  
  
"We hope. I think I know her pretty well, now. I just wish... I hate to ask, but can I see it again?"  
  
Absentmindedly Jarod reached for the case that held his collection of DSA's and the viewer, but hesitated at the last moment, old shame and his own fears rearing their ugly heads. Reminding himself that Macleod had already seen some of the most horrifying disks of the lot, Jarod pushed away the memories and pulled the case up onto the table, opening it and turning it so that his friend would be able to see clearly, but the images would be hidden from his view. Pressing a nearly invisible latch he swung the side of the case open, revealing a single DSA resting in a small niche. Slipping it into the activation slot, the younger man rose and walked away from his recent discovery, trying to block out the audio, as well as the video, that the machine was producing, fresh pain and anger for the young girl on the screen piercing his heart.  
  
[ "What is she doing here, Catherine? She should have been delivered to SL27 long ago. I wanted her settled in by now."   
  
"Was the Tower's directive not clear enough for you?"  
  
"I understood every word, "Doctor" Raines, but I refuse to allow my daughter to become part of whatever repugnant, sadistic experiment you happen to be conducting at the moment. My husband may have to grovel at the feet of the Triumvirate, but I don't. She stays with me."  
  
"I trust you read the report. Of course you did or you wouldn't be here now. The results were conclusive. Your daughter is one of the most promising candidates I've ever seen. In time, I think she could even outshine that wunderkind Sydney's been working with, but her potential can only be developed here. You can take her to her room, Mrs. Parker, or I can have her escorted there. Either way, she's Centre property now. She has no choice in the matter, and neither do you. What will it be? Will you see her to her new home or not? I should think she'd much prefer to go with you than with Security, but it's your choice of course."  
  
"I told you. She isn't going anywhere."  
  
"Catherine.... The matter is settled, angel..." ]  
  
Still as affected as ever, watching for the fourth time in two days, Macleod forced himself not to turn his eyes away as the final scene on the disk played itself out.   
  
On the other side of the room Jarod leaned into a wall, tensing as his emotional revulsion became physical, struggling against the bile rising in his throat as the images he already knew so well ran through his head once again.  
  
Catherine Parker asking to have her daughter brought to her, begging to be allowed to say goodbye.   
  
Catherine Parker professing her everlasting love for her child, then thrusting that same child into the arms of her husband, her voice deeply bitter as she demands that he be the one to collect the thirty pieces of silver for the proposed sacrifice of his own flesh and blood, her heels clicking as she runs from the office.  
  
Abruptly, the sounds of the actual recording broke into Jarod's reverie.  
  
[ "Sweetness, you wait outside for Daddy alright? I'll be through here in just a few minutes, and then we'll have that adventure I promised."  
  
"Okay, Daddy."  
  
"Good girl. Close the door. She'll never survive here, Raines."  
  
"The tests are conclusive. There's nothing more to say."  
  
"To hell with the tests! Use common logic, man. It will never work. She and Catherine are too close. Catherine will never let her go while there's a breath in her body."  
  
"I believe that problem is being solved as we speak." ]  
  
Hands fisted at his sides, Jarod decided he wouldn't let the disk finish this time. Stalking quickly back to the table, he pulled the DSA from the slot and restored it to its hiding place before either of them could once more be subjected to the sharp report of the gun or the deeply disturbing image of a fierce young girl struggling against arms much larger and stronger than she.  
  
Glancing at the other man, Jarod saw only his friend's broad back. Despite his resolve, Macleod had been unable to keep his eyes on the small screen, anticipating the same ending he had experienced three times before. Deeply relieved that he would not have to listen to the last few seconds of audio again, the Scot drew a deep, quiet breath and swiveled back around in the chair.  
  
"I still can't decide whether to be more grateful I knocked this thing off my kitchen counter and sprung that panel, or more nauseated over what we found. At the moment, nauseated's winning."  
  
"I told you, I'm glad it happened. It gives me an edge I didn't have before; with her and after this is over. If it doesn't succeed, I'll still have the disk. I can try something else."  
  
"I'm glad you're glad. I'm trying to get there. I just can't, yet."  
  
"Don't bother. Just make sure you're ready. It's past time to get things started." Jarod prompted, gripping the other's shoulder for a moment on his way to the kitchen.  
  
"Right. You'll be watching?"  
  
"Off and on. I'll study the tapes later. For now, it's your show. I'll have dinner and a beer for you when you're done."  
  
"Make it two."  
  
"Two it is."  
  
Halfway out of the room, Macleod halted and turned when Jarod called his name from the kitchen doorway.  
  
"Did I forget something?"  
  
"No. I did. I've only found a handful of people in my life I trusted. I mean, really trusted with things that were precious to me. I trust you, Duncan Macleod. You've seen the ledge she's standing on. Don't let her fall."  
  
Caught off guard, Macleod started to speak, to thank his new companion for his faith in him, but found his own demons choking off his words; the demons that reappeared each time he dared to befriend one not of his own kind. They gleefully reminded him that he had accepted the trust of many men and women before, mortal and immortal, and taunted him with the memory of his one great love, whispering that he had utterly failed her at her moment of greatest need.   
  
Knowing Jarod would, someday, become as ageless as he was did nothing to ease the constriction in his throat; he understood all too well the additional commitments and stresses immortality would place on a young man who already bore a great number of unspeakable burdens. Part of him wished he could be there when his new friend finally learned the truth, to witness what a rare being like him might make of the next hundred years or so, but the greater part didn't envy Jarod in the slightest.  
  
Unable to articulate his gratitude for Jarod's trust in him, the Scot simply smiled lightly, nodded and strode off to begin his work with their beautiful captive.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Checking a second monitor just outside her cell, Macleod was surprised to note the changes she had made in just the few minutes that he and Jarod had been distracted with the DSA viewer. She was now fully dressed and had artfully arranged herself in the chair that sat by the larger table.   
  
Arms crossed over her chest, her arresting face devoid of emotion, she struck him as nothing more than a successful business executive, suffering the imbeciles of the world with quiet dignity as she waited serenely for the next opportunity to present itself. Whether she was expecting a cross-town bus or the end of the world, however, was something one would never be able to tell by simply looking at her.  
  
Retrieving the basket he had placed by his feet, he pulled a keyless remote from his pocket, entered the unlock code, replaced the device and entered the room, pushing the door closed again behind him.  
  
Sensing his slow approach from across the room, Parker stole a glance through her lashes at the man she had held such high hopes for only twenty-four short hours ago. Realizing, now, that he must have had a hand in her abduction from the start, she lowered her gaze and smoothed all expression from her face.  
  
As he drew close, to her chagrin and profound surprise, she began to experience a much more modest repeat of the sensation that had stricken her at the airstrip, this time marked chiefly by an abrupt deepening of the pain centered behind her eyes and a significant increase in the roiling in her stomach. As the Centre had trained her to do in such situations, she drove her discomfort as far down as was necessary for her to be able to think clearly and logically, and focused instead on the over six-foot tall question mark that had plopped himself down not five feet from where she sat.  
  
Perched on the edge of the table, Macleod placed the basket in front of her and did his best to mirror her self-possessed, aloof facade. Through the next ten minutes he remained calm, remained silent, knowing his patience was the key to opening her up and, ultimately, to the success of Jarod's plan for her.   
  
Thanks to Methos' urging, he had studied the woman before him as deeply as his information would allow. He knew that every step she would take on the road ahead had to be hers alone. If he made even one decision for her, if he rushed her through one blind curve that she wasn't yet ready to face, she would pull back, perhaps even turn and run in panic, and he would have to begin again. Given the limited number of days he had to work with her, that was one mistake he couldn't afford. So he sat with her. He was quiet. He allowed her to dictate what would happen next, and when. He waited.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
BLUE COVE:  
  
"Well. Good afternoon. I was just beginning to wonder where you'd got to." Sydney greeted a very late arriving Broots, adding a bright smile to make sure his friend and assistant knew he was in no trouble.  
  
"I know you won't tell anyone, Sydney. You won't will you?"  
  
"Of course not. Is something wrong at home? If it's anything I can help with...."  
  
"Home? No... No. Not exactly." Broots explained, his voice low as he made his way to Sydney's desk, throwing glances back over his left shoulder every ten seconds all the way there. "It's just that this is the first time all day that either Lyle, Raines or Mister Parker haven't been in front of your door or somewhere within five feet of it. I saw my chance to get this to you, so I took it."  
  
Slipping a small package from his pocket, he slid it to Sydney across the desk. "This was in my mailbox this morning. It's got your name on it. Is it...."  
  
"Oh, yes. I meant to thank you for ordering that for me. I know it's silly to be embarrassed, but it's also silly for a man my age to have become addicted to a child's miniature video game. I'm grateful that you were willing to put it in your name and protect my reputation."  
  
Noting Sydney's surreptitious glances at the corner where the security camera hung, Broots swiftly got the point and played into the fairy-tale his boss was spinning.  
  
"Hey. I said I was sorry. How could I know you'd get hooked on it so fast? This is the one you wanted right? It has all the latest features."  
  
Staring at his watch, Sydney's face brightened.  
  
"I have a marvelous, idea. I was just about to leave all this and go out for an early dinner. Why don't you join me? You can show me all those new features you mentioned." Sydney offered, standing and slipping the package into his pocket.  
  
Growing more and more intrigued by the game Sydney was running on the eyes and ears that tracked their every move, Broots gladly kept it up as they strolled out of the office and towards the elevators.  
  
"Sure. All I'm doing is the same old scut work anyway. It can wait 'till morning. Hey. Did you manage to find the brass key for level twelve yet? You can't complete the level without it and I've looked everywhere."  
  
"Not everywhere, apparently. It was in the treasure chest that's on your left as you finish stage eleven. I'll show you in the car."  
  
"The chest? Man, I swear I checked that. I must have missed it.  
  
"Most people would have, my friend. I do believe most people would have." Sydney replied sagely, smiling a tight, secret smile as the doors clicked shut in front of him.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Not long after passing through the gates of the Centre, the two friends sat in Sydney's car in a rest stop off the highway, Broots wearing an expression of frustrated curiosity.  
  
"Hurry up, would you Sydney? The suspense is driving me nuts."  
  
"If this is from Jarod, it could have any number of traps attached that will destroy the contents if I don't do this correctly, in exactly the manner he expects me to." Sydney responded distractedly. "Give me another minute or two. Whatever it is, I won't hide it from you, I promise. One more piece of tape and I think.... Yes. Now let's see what we have here."  
  
Gently prying up the end flap of the small box, Sydney tipped the contents, two tiny disks wrapped in tissue, into his right hand.  
  
"DSA's? I don't understand, Syd. He's always insisted that these things were the key to his past. Why is he giving them up all of a sudden?"  
  
"He did it for a reason. Perhaps these aren't what we think they are." Looking them over carefully, he noticed something missing on the reverse side of one and grinned. "Look at this, Broots. Do you see what I see; there on the back?"  
  
"The code number's missing. It's a copy."  
  
"Precisely, but of what? Would you do me a favor?"  
  
"Sure. Anything you need, just ask."  
  
"There's a leather suitcase in the trunk. If you'd retrieve it for me we can solve this mystery. It's quite heavy, so watch yourself." He advised as he handed his passenger the keys.  
  
A few minutes later, grunting all the way, Broots returned with the case and thumped back into his seat, grateful to let Sydney take the weight from him.  
  
Sliding it gently into his lap, Sydney rapidly dialed in the correct numbers on the lock holding the case closed, unzipped the leather shell and flipped open his personal DSA player, shocking his friend in the process.  
  
"Security checks your trunk every other day! How did you ever keep them from finding this?! The last guy that got caught taking one home overnight...."  
  
"I know. I sewed lead weights into the lining of the outer case. It can't be X-rayed and it's so heavy that security rarely bothers trying to examine it. I always keep it locked, and I change locks periodically. If they decide to be obstinate about it, I simply plead that I brought the wrong set of keys or don't have the time to try and remember the combination." he explained as he picked up the disks again, looking for some sign of which to play first.  
  
"That won't keep them off your back much longer. They're paid to be suspicious."  
  
"I know that too. I'm working on a new strategy as we speak. I just hope I can finish the fine details in time. Can you find anything about these that would indicate whether one should be played before the other?"  
  
"Let's see. Yeah. Here it is. It's really hard to read, but I think it says Disk 1."  
  
"Alright. Disk 1 it is." Sydney replied, slipping the DSA into place.  
  
[ I have to be brief with this little introduction, Sydney. As you're already aware, I'm a little busy at the moment. I found the original of that second disk you're holding in a hidden compartment of my DSA viewer. Sorry. I should have said our viewer, since it was yours before I borrowed it. It really makes me wonder if you knew all along, Sydney, and I don't like wondering about my friends. I need to get going. So much to do. You know how it is. I'd say enjoy the show, but.... when you see it, you'll understand. Be careful. I'll call soon. ]  
  
"All along? If I didn't know better, I'd swear Jarod was on the verge of accusing me of something."   
  
His innate curiosity peaking once more, Sydney removed the first disk and inserted the second. It lasted only eleven minutes, but by the time it had finished, Broots was convinced he had spent hours in that tiny space, struggling to breathe air that suddenly seemed toxic and far too heavy to draw into his lungs. Door now wide open, his feet on the asphalt surface of the parking lot, he sat, doubled over, fighting to keep the remains of his day's meals where they belonged.   
  
Deep in his own misery, he only partially registered the pain of the leather case slamming into his low back as Sydney shoved the viewer and its contents away from him and battled his way out the driver's side of the car, half running, half stumbling in a desperate effort to put distance between himself and what he had just experienced.  
  
After a long while, and several hundred deep calming breaths, Sydney forced himself to return to the car to check on Broots who, he feared, would still be nearly incapacitated when he returned. To his great surprise, his friend had not only recovered, but had had the foresight to repack the viewer and the DSA's and replace them in the trunk. As he approached, Broots had just started to walk in a tight circle around the car, in obvious pain, but trying to appear as if everything were normal.  
  
"Broots? What's wrong? What happened?"  
  
"Nothing. I'm fine."  
  
"You're in pain. Tell me what happened."  
  
"I'll be alright, really. It's not your fault. I probably would have done worse to that thing if I'd been..... Like I said, it's fine."  
  
Going back to the few moments just before he'd rushed out of the car, Sydney recalled violently pushing the case off his legs in the direction of his friend.  
  
"My God. I'm so sorry, Broots. I didn't intend.... I was panicked, in a fog. I had no idea...."  
  
"I know. It's okay."  
  
"No it isn't. But it will be, I think. Where did it hit you?"  
  
"Lower back."  
  
"Turn round."   
  
Gently lifting the hem of Broots' shirt, Sydney found a large area already covered by various shades of red and dark brown.  
  
"It's badly bruised, but I think that's the extent of the damage. I'd say you have yourself a few days off."  
  
"Thank God on both counts. After that real life horror movie.... I can't go back there today, Syd. All it would take is one look in my eyes and even the gerbils in the labs would know somethin' was up."  
  
"I know. We both need time away. What would you say to a hit and run with minor injuries for you and a bad case of food poisoning for me?" Sydney threw out as he helped his friend back into the car.  
  
"Sounds good to me. I just hope they buy it."  
  
"Oh, I think they will. I can be quite convincing when the need arises." Sydney replied as he climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.  
  
"Don't I know it. That bit about the video game was inspired. Where are we headed now?"  
  
"Do you mind staying on my couch for the night? I can call the Centre from there and treat your back as well."  
  
"I don't mind, you know that, but you don't have to. I should go home."  
  
"Nonsense. Panicked or not, I caused those bruises. It's my responsibility to keep an eye on you tonight and make sure the injury doesn't go deeper than what I can see on the surface. Besides. I.... I'd rather not be alone tonight. I don't think the tremors have quite stopped yet."  
  
"Mine either. Yeah. I think company tonight is a great idea. Just one thing, though."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"When the nightmares hit, I can sleep in the hallway outside your door, right?"  
  
The sudden burst of laughter brought on by Broots' question relieved much of the tension Sydney had been holding onto for the past forty minutes and made him extremely grateful that, after all that had been asked of him and all he had risked, the man sitting beside him was still around and still courageous enough to want to be his friend.  
  
"Never mind the hallway or the couch. I've got an air mattress and a heavy sleeping bag. I'll set them up on the floor of my room."  
  
"I can't let you go to all that trouble. It's too much work....  
  
"It's for my benefit as much as yours, my friend. Something tells me you won't be the only one having nightmares."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
"Really, Sydney. I don't think I want or need to hear this."  
  
"You do. If something happens in the next day or two, instead of tonight, I might not be there to help. Just listen, alright? These bruises are bound to stiffen up. There will obviously be some pain, but if it becomes so strong that you feel as if you're on the verge of blacking out, or if you see even the faintest sign of blood when you...."  
  
Cringing, Broots held up his hands for emphasis as best he could while lying face down on his friend's couch.  
  
"I get the point, Sydney. I get the point."  
  
"I hope so." the older man chided, refolding the damp cloth in his hands. Finding a cooler surface, he gently reapplied the compress to his friend's lower back. "My guilt over having caused this is deep enough. I can't imagine what I'd do if it turned out....."  
  
"I told you a million times on the ride here, I don't blame you. It just happened. Forget it. Bruises heal, Sydney."  
  
"Yes, well... I think the cold compresses have done all the good they're going to." Sydney replied, dropping the cloth back into the bowl of water on the floor as he stood and stretched tight muscles in his own back. "How would you feel about something to eat?"  
  
"Yeah, that would be great. We never did get to dinner. Man, I didn't think my appetite would find its way back this fast. Not after...."  
  
"Nor mine, but injury and sudden shock have ways of making one ravenous. Can you sit up?"  
  
"I think so. Just let me...."   
  
Broots grunted, reaching for the sofa arm and using it to slowly and cautiously pull himself back to an upright position. "There. Okay. Now, did I hear food mentioned?" he asked, raising his voice a bit as Sydney was already in the kitchen.  
  
"Indeed. How do rare roast beef sandwiches sound?" the older man offered, his voice slightly muffled due to his head being thrust deeply into the refrigerator.  
  
"Like heaven on earth."  
  
"You will want dijon mustard I assume. And German potato salad? I think there's just enough left in here for two servings."  
  
"That sounds perfect, Syd. Let me give you a hand."   
  
Sydney raced back into the living room just in time to prevent Broots from trying to rise from his seat.  
  
"Absolutely not. You're supposed to be resting. You stay where you are. I'll bring trays."  
  
After a brief struggle he knew he wouldn't win, Broots assented to Sydney's wishes. When the aroma of the food reached his nostrils some minutes later, he rapidly forgot to care who had done the work.  
  
"It smells great." he declared as Sydney set the tray in his lap.   
  
"Yes. I make the potato salad myself. I hope you enjoy it."  
  
His mouth already full of the salad, his expression rapturous, Broots could only nod and smile. "I see I don't need to worry about that." Sydney chuckled softly.  
  
Forty minutes later, trays put away, dishes in the sink, Broots sipped his second glass of beer as he worked up the courage to ask the question he'd been avoiding since he and Sydney had arrived.  
  
"Look. I don't wanna ask, but it's been bugging me. The way you reacted back there, I kinda know the answer.... but I kinda don't."  
  
Setting his glass on the table beside him, Sydney rose and walked to the window that faced his front yard, staring out at the brown grass and empty flowerbeds, seeing everything as it would be again when spring returned.  
  
"Did I know? Not what was on that DSA, no. My god, if.... I knew she had all the earmarks of being the most remarkable natural Pretender we'd ever found. I did the majority of her testing, but they wouldn't let me go any further. They claimed I was too close to her; that I could not possibly maintain my.... "objectivity". At the time of Catherine's death, I was still lobbying the Tower to allow me to train Parker. Instead they insisted on handing her over to... him."  
  
"I get sick all over again just thinking of what might have happened to her in Raines' hands."  
  
"As did I. That's why I was fighting so hard to keep her from him."  
  
"But you didn't get her either, right? I mean, if she'd been put in the program, wouldn't she still be there?"  
  
"Just days after her mother's death, she was suddenly declared no longer a fit candidate. Noone ever told me why, and I was never able to learn the answer on my own. She'd always been an observer, even a catalyst in some of Jarod's early training. After her termination from the program, her father wouldn't even let her be that. From that time until Jarod's escape, I saw her rarely, if at all."  
  
A sudden gasp from the couch pulled Sydney's attention in Broots' direction. The paleness of his friend's face brought him running to the rescue.  
  
"What is it? Are you in pain?"  
  
"No, but Daddy Parker sure will be."  
  
"I don't understand. What do you mean?"  
  
"I just realized why Jarod took her. Oh, my God. I have to get back to the Centre, and right now. We have to find her, Sydney. We can't let him...."  
  
Forgetting, in his agitation, that he had ever had a back injury, Broots jumped from the sofa and headed for the door, but was halted mid-step and mid-sentence by the pain that lanced up his spine and down the back of his legs.  
  
After being helped back to the couch, it was several minutes before he could even speak.  
  
"I have to go...."  
  
"You're not going anywhere just now. You rest. I'll be back in a moment with some ibuprofen."  
  
"It can wait. She's gonna kill him, Syd. She may not mean to, but it'll happen just the same. You have to stop Jarod. You have to."  
  
"Stop him from doing what? I don't understand."  
  
"He thinks he's found a way to cut the Centre's pursuit off at the knees. He's put her back in the program, Sydney. He's training her."  
  
Kicking himself for not understanding earlier, Sydney began to pace the room, finally seeing the pieces fall together and coming to the same conclusion that Broots had.  
  
"My God. That's exactly why he did this. He plans to turn her into an ally instead of an enemy. You have to admit, Broots; it may be doomed to ultimate failure but it is brilliant. He's doing exactly what I always taught him to do; turn obstacles into challenges to be overcome and turn adversity into opportunity. It's nice to know all my lessons didn't go to waste." Sydney chuckled, grinning and becoming more excited with every minute.  
  
"How can you be laughing? This is serious! By now Miss Parker's probably either shot him in the head or beat him half to death and she's on her way back as we speak."  
  
"I seriously doubt either one of those scenarios has come to pass. Jarod said he wasn't working alone and two people are much harder to subdue than one."  
  
"I can't believe this. You know better than almost anyone what she's capable of and you aren't even a little worried?!"  
  
"I was at first, but not now. Don't you see? This could be the best thing that's ever happened to her. She was never meant to grow up the way she did. When she was barred from training, her life took a different course than it should have. She deserves a second chance to see where that other path would have led."  
  
"It wasn't that bad a choice, Sydney. It kept her away from Raines."  
  
"Agreed, but she was left to the less than tender mercies of her father without Catherine's humanity and compassion to balance the scales. Therefore she became our miss Parker instead of the one she could, or should, have become. If anyone can make a success of a mad scheme like this, it's Jarod. I almost hope he does. I just wish I could be there. I'm missing his ultimate pretend."  
  
"Which would be?"  
  
"Me."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	3. Chapter 3

Part 1/Chapter 3  
  
  
"I'm not shouting at you and I'm not being disrespectful. I simply want the answers I'm entitled to."  
  
"I didn't think it was necessary. Your plate is full at the moment and I wanted to spare you the extra stress."  
  
"That is straight off the stall floor and you know it. I should have been the first one you notified." Lyle protested, pacing rapidly back and forth before Mister Parker's desk.  
  
"After the Tower, of course." his father reminded him, a half-smoked cigar frozen halfway to his mouth, eyes suddenly harder than they'd been a minute ago as he waited for his son to show that he regretted his slip of the tongue.  
  
Reading the clear reprimand in the face of the older man, Lyle responded immediately, a rare flash of anger momentarily overcoming his usually rock solid self control.  
  
"I am not a three year old. If you question my loyalty, then say so, but leave that "what's the magic word" crap in the compost heap where it came from. I just found out I had a sister. What could possibly make you think that keeping me ignorant of her abduction would be good for me? You had to know I'd find out eventually. I won't lose her, not now and especially not to Jarod. There has to be more you can do than sit there chomping on that absurd cigar and blowing pretty smoke rings for the benefit of the ceiling tiles."  
  
Already fatigued by the demands of his work and the constant calls from his superiors, Mister Parker drew a deep breath, expelled it slowly and depressed the button under his desk that would bring any nearby security immediately to his office. As he had seen to it that, lately, one or more of their number was never out of earshot, he didn't have to wait very long before two guards appeared in his office doorway.  
  
"Gentlemen. Mr. Lyle seems to be lost. Would you be kind enough to show him the way back to his own office?"  
  
"Of course. This way, sir."  
  
For the briefest of moments, Lyle considered shaking off the hands that were persistently turning him away and moving him out into the hallway. The moment passed, however, and he settled for throwing his father a last challenge as he was led away.  
  
"Don't think I'm dropping this. If you won't even try to find your own daughter, I will."  
  
Too tired and frustrated to formulate a suitable reply, Parker merely watched his son as he was guided back toward his own door and given a none too gentle push in that direction. Staring at the pile of papers heaped on his desk, he slowly gathered them up, stacked them neatly and slid them to one side. Rising from his seat, he made his way to the sofa that he had recently bought and tucked into a discreet corner of his office, laid down slowly and threw an arm over his eyes.  
  
A moment later, he stretched out the same hand, grasping the framed photo on the low table in front of the couch, gazing at it quickly, then clutching it to his chest under his folded arms as his eyes slid closed. It was only in moments of severe anxiety, such as the bout he was currently suffering through, that he could admit that he really only kept the picture around for sentimental reasons. He didn't need one to recall her face; he never had.  
  
"Where are you when I really need you, angel? Our little girl's in trouble. Then again, when is she not?" he chuckled softly at the thought, surprising himself, but sobered quickly. "Help her. Keep her safe for me, my love."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
SEACOUVER  
  
Nearly half an hour after he had first entered her room and presented his gift to miss Parker, Macleod was still exactly where he had been at the start; seated half on and half off the large table in the middle of the cubicle, patiently waiting for her to make the first move, to take a step, even a small one, that would wedge his foot in the door and provide him a place to begin.  
  
Less than a minute later, when she raised her eyes to his face at last, he cheered her silently, but did not move from his position. He waited until the second hand on his watch had completed two more full circuits before he met her eyes, allowing her the security of her habitual dominant role for a while longer. Still silent, he held his hands up palm out, to show they were empty, then dropped the left back to the table and used the right to slide the basket a little closer to her, encouraging her to investigate its contents.   
  
After a very brief staring contest, which he allowed her to win, she peeled back the tissue paper covering the top, took a fast inventory of what he had brought, then set the basket on the floor beside her chair and resumed staring at him.  
  
Satisfied that she believed herself the victor in the battle of wills, Macleod stood, made a small bow and walked out the door, knowing everything had gone like clockwork, and already preparing Miss Parker's next lesson.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"How much did you see?"  
  
"Almost all of it. I was only going to watch for a minute or two, but I got so fascinated by what you were doing. That's not like any trust exercise I've ever heard of."  
  
"It's a technique I developed for working with patients with her kind of background. Trust isn't just anathema to her, it's beyond non-existent. I'm not sure she even gets the concept behind the word. She thinks she trusts the people around her every day, but it's not real. Her faith in them is faith out of fear, necessity or pure survival instinct. Once I get her to see that,...."  
  
"Then she'll know true trust.... in you."   
  
"Precisely. From there it's a short hop, hopefully anyway, to the point where she's ready, willing and able to be confronted with the whole truth, including the nausea inducing stuff on that disk."  
  
"Ready for dinner?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. It may have looked like I was doing nothing in there, but keeping my mouth shut that long really takes it out of me."  
  
Laughing companionably, the two men strolled off to the kitchen.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Having fortified himself with an excellent meal of Jarod's creation, Macleod stood, once again, just outside his "patient's" cubicle, observing her on the monitor. He watched closely as she made several furious circuits of the room, stopping occasionally at the large table to snatch a quick swallow from a bottle of upset stomach remedy; one of many items he had stuffed into the care package delivered during their last session.  
  
When she disappeared from his line of sight, he switched to the feed from a second camera and discovered that she had walked to the edge of the bed and now stood before it, contemplating it as if she'd never seen its like before. Believing he understood what she was mulling over, Macleod took that moment to unlock the door and enter, disrupting a likely plan of tearing the bed apart and using various parts for weapons and escape tools.  
  
  
Maneuvering the padded desk chair he had brought along into a satisfactory position near the table, he lowered himself into its relative comfort (at least compared to a seat on a table edge) and crossed his knees, prepared to wait her out once again.  
  
Despite her knowledge that she was no longer alone, Parker stared at the bed for a while longer, wanting the small container of neon pink fluid on the table more than ever, but knowing she would have to pass close to him to retrieve it, increasing her nausea and defeating the purpose of the trip. Another moment or two and a particularly violent twitch from her stomach decided her.  
  
Turning slowly to face her tormentor, Parker raised a hand stiffly, pointed in Macleod's direction and then at the other side of the room in general. Confused, but knowing he couldn't afford to antagonize her, Macleod acceded to her silent request, stood and moved several feet in the direction she had indicated, watching her all the while.   
  
When she was satisfied he was far enough away, she strode to the table and retrieved the medicine, vaguely waving him back once she'd reached the bed once again. Dropping to the mattress, Parker lifted the bottle to her lips for a long moment, then capped it tightly and tossed it on the comforter beside her, favoring the man across from her with the darkest look in her repertoire; the one designed to bore holes in cement walls and send anyone who witnessed it into screaming fits as they dived behind the nearest solid object. To her further frustration, it seemed to have no effect whatsoever. His face expressionless, he simply continued to gaze at her calmly and with great interest, as if he had discovered a new species of bacteria and was still caught up in marveling over his find.   
  
As he watched her anger grow with every passing minute, Mac knew their stalemate wouldn't last much longer. Studying her background and personality, and sensing all the rage and sorrow she had repressed and denied, had told him that she was headed for an emotional explosion of nuclear proportions somewhere in the near future, but he knew if he, or Jarod, were to get anywhere with her, it had to happen soon. The pressure cooker atmosphere he and Jarod had designed would force her into confronting her past on their timetable and in a controlled environment, where the coming blast could at least be contained.   
  
Gazing at her, his mind drifted back to Methos' claims that Parker had reacted to him as only another immortal would have; that, somehow, she had known what he was. Mental wheels and gears picking up speed, he began to wonder again why she had ordered him away from the table before she would go and get the bottle she had left there. Deeply curious now, he knew he would have to test the theory forming in his mind or the questions would bother him until he did. Standing, he began to slowly walk toward her, checking every step of the way for even minute changes in her appearance that would indicate his presence was affecting her in some unusual way.  
  
When he was still over four feet away, he noticed signs of an internal struggle begin to show in her eyes. At three feet, she grabbed the medicine and fled to the other side of the room, leaning into a convenient corner and guzzling what little was left in the bottle. After wiping her lips somewhat daintily with an index finger, she spoke the first words either of them had since Macleod had first shown up earlier that day.  
  
"You did that deliberately, you son of a bitch."  
  
Never dropping his eyes from hers, Macleod inclined his head slightly in an admission of guilt.  
  
{There goes your dominant status, lovely.} Mac thought, laughing to himself. {From here on in, we fight as equals; as warriors should. En Garde. The battle starts now.}  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Pardon me sir, but I only witnessed the accident. I wasn't driving the car. Of course. Apology accepted. We both saw my personal physician. He said hospitalization wasn't necessary. A few days' bed rest and we'll be feeling like ourselves again. Yes. I'll pass on the message. Please excuse me. I have another call. I'll be right back to you. Hello."  
  
"Hello to you."  
  
The sound of his former student's voice sent memories and images from the difficult afternoon just past spinning through Sydney's head, stunning him briefly and forcing him to take a deep breath or two before speaking.  
  
"The answer is no, Jarod. Please trust me when I say I had no part in..... in the horrors that disk contains."  
  
"I believe you didn't know Catherine would be killed. That's all I believe. You were practically head of the project, Sydney; second only to Raines. It would have been nearly impossible for you not to know about Miss Parker."  
  
"Of course I was aware..... She was scheduled to be placed with Raines. I couldn't let her be subjected to...I tried, Jarod. God alone knows how hard I tried to get them to allow me to teach her, as I was teaching you. They were having none of it. After Catherine's... after that day, the child's name was struck off the rosters. I don't know why, but I thank God for it every day. It was my job, Jarod. I didn't know the truth then. You must understand."  
  
"I didn't know. I tried. They wouldn't let me. They all sound like excuses, Sydney. Poor excuses for betrayal of a child's trust."  
  
"Jarod...."  
  
"Face it, Sydney. Even if you'd been allowed to train her she would have ended up exactly like I was; a desperately lonely and frightened eight year old child in a thirty year old body, who just wants the games and the sims and the pain to stop."  
  
"Yes, and instead she grew up with a father who had not the first clue how to relate to a little girl except to turn her into the same unfeeling Centre automaton that he had become."  
  
"Pointless arguments, Sydney. I just wanted to let you know I'll be out of contact for a while. Things are getting hectic here and I can't spare the time. When we're finished, maybe...."  
  
"I'll look forward to hearing from you....."  
  
The dial tone in his ear stopped Sydney mid-sentence. Brushing moisture from his cheeks that he hadn't realized was there until just then, he quickly composed himself and returned to his conversation with his employer.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
His dark eyes fused to her lighter ones, Macleod took a half step toward the corner then stopped. Parker, her survival instinct kicking into high gear, felt a rush of adrenaline flood her system as her spine straightened automatically, her hands lifted into defensive positions and her well trained body prepared to defend itself.  
  
"Relax. You have my vow to stay at least ten feet away. Conditionally of course."  
  
"If I wanted to take you apart, ten miles wouldn't be far enough."  
  
"Tell me why I can't get close to you, and I back off. Easy." Macleod offered in a "let's be buddies" tone of voice, while moving another half step closer. "We got along fine at the Centre. I've trained boxers who couldn't handle clinches half as well as you did that afternoon."  
  
"You have two choices. Get out of my face and live or keep coming and I gut you, hang you upside down and turn this place into a slaughterhouse. Up to you."  
  
"Tell me. That's all it will take. One more small step brings me into that four-foot zone. Tell me why I shouldn't take it. Help me understand."  
  
"Hope you keep the name of your chosen funeral parlor in your wallet."  
  
Shaking his head, careful not to let even a trace of his amused fascination show, Mac took another step. As he had theorized, whatever she was feeling kept Parker precisely where she was, unable to move close enough to carry out her threat, though the burning desire to rearrange vital parts of his anatomy still glowed white hot in her eyes. Hoping to stave off a painful confrontation, he asked a question designed to throw her completely off balance and distract her from lethal thoughts. It did its job so well that she had answered him before she could even think about the consequences of opening herself up to the man she had been prepared to murder two minutes before.  
  
"It was like this at the airport, wasn't it?"  
  
"Airport? Hell, no. He was like driving into a cement wall. You just make my hangover worse."  
  
"It isn't the alcohol. At least not completely. Some people react badly to chloroform."  
  
"Chloroform? You chloroformed me?!"  
  
"Not me. I didn't get here 'till after breakfast. You'll have to take that up with my associate."  
  
"God! No wonder I have no memory of how I ended up in this sick little experiment. I assume you're watching, you sadistic.... You can't possibly imagine what I'm going to do to you, Jarod. What is it they say on that game show? Come on down. Well, why don't you? It'll be a challenge for me to see if I can finally kill someone without the usual messy cleanup."  
  
"He will. It isn't time yet. You and I still have work to do. You'll probably see him in a few days, if you're a good girl and cooperate with teacher. Describe the feeling to me. Tell me exactly what happens when I get too close to you."  
  
"Give me a reason."  
  
"I'm curious. Is that good enough?"  
  
A sneer and a decidedly unfriendly show of teeth were all the response Mac received. He debated pushing her further, but only for a split second.   
  
"It's true. I don't understand your reaction. It makes me curious." he rationalized for her benefit as he took another step forward, watching her like a hawk every second. "You don't have to keep suffering. Just talk to me."  
  
Her eyes mere slits now, Parker grimaced and shot her answer through tightly clenched teeth and between short, labored breaths.  
  
"Damn you. I could.... rip your lungs out.... through your navel with one hand."  
  
"Probably, but that has nothing to do with what I asked you."   
  
"I... already explained. If you.... you weren't paying attention.... you deal with it. Not my problem."  
  
"You said I make your hangover worse. You didn't explain how."  
  
"You back off."  
  
"I said I would. I keep my promises."  
  
"No. You first. Then I talk."  
  
For several seconds, Mac hesitated to do as she was asking, but conceded in the end. Several minutes later, after drawing enough deep, strong breaths to clear her head and allow her to straighten previously unstable legs, she pleased him no end by keeping her part of the bargain.   
  
"The headache and the nausea..... somehow, being close to you intensifies them. Happy?"  
  
"It'll do."  
  
"To hell with you. I gave you what you wanted. You could have the decency to at least look smug instead of distracted."  
  
"Sorry. I was thinking about a logic problem. Nothing to do with the real reason we're here."  
  
"Which I trust you'll now tell me?"  
  
"Soon. When our work is done. You can have a seat on the bed if you'd like. You've been standing long enough."  
  
"Aren't we suddenly Mr. Warmth and Charm." Parker responded caustically, never taking her eyes off him as she made her way to the cot.  
  
"We do try." Macleod returned with a small grin, searching at the same time for the spot where she had stored the basket he'd delivered earlier. When he found it, he rooted in it for a few seconds, extracted a small vial from beneath the other items, placed it on the floor some distance from the bed and strolled back to his seat.  
  
Still wary, Parker retrieved the tiny bottle and withdrew quickly back into her comfort zone.  
  
"The top twists off. Take a couple deep breaths of that and then we'll get back to work."  
  
"How much of an imbecile do you think I am?"  
  
"No more of one than you must consider me. If I wanted to make you sick, I'd give you a hug. That vial is nothing but a mixture of plant extracts; green apple, jasmine and rosehips to be precise."  
  
"Aromatherapy? After what you did to me last night, you expect me to believe this is aromatherapy. I've used every scent blend there is. What you described doesn't exist."  
  
"If it were a commercial product, I'd agree. It isn't. I made it for you. Green apple for the headache, jasmine for anxiety and rosehips for the nausea."  
  
"It just gets better and better. Good looking, charming and a master herbalist. What a guy."  
  
"Just open the bottle. We have work to do, and I need you concentrating on me, not whether or not you're about to toss your cookies."  
  
"What a great bumper sticker writer you'd make. 'Your buns' in my oven and I'm tossing my cookies over you.'"  
  
Getting frustrated with her stalling tactics, Macleod decided using shock and indignation might get her back on track.  
  
"Did you ever consider that? As a reason for the nausea I mean. It's quite possible it wasn't a bad reaction after all. The way Jarod described your personality, I just assumed you hadn't played.... bounce the box spring, shall we say, in months. Maybe even years. Assumptions are often wrong of course...."  
  
When he turned to gauge her reaction, he found she had removed her shoes and placed both feet flat on the floor. Both hands were wrapped around the edge of the bed frame, and he could almost see the tension flowing in waves from her ramrod-straight back. Glancing at her face, Macleod suddenly felt a strong urge to run for the nearest exit well up in his throat. Shoving the doubt away from him, he mentally reset his cool, calm facade and continued.  
  
"Good. Now that you're taking things a bit more seriously, we can move on. Open the bottle."  
  
Following his every move with her eyes, Parker did as she had been asked. The moment the vial was opened she immediately knew Macleod had told the truth about its contents. Bringing the small glass container close to her face, she drew four deep, slow breaths, resealed the tube, slid it into a pocket of her slacks and relaxed against the wall.  
  
"Better?" Macleod asked, fighting to keep a smile from his lips.  
At a small nod from his subject, he continued. "Good. I have an offer for you. Whether you accept is up to you, of course, but I hope you see the benefits to agreeing. The deal is that I tell you only the God's honest truth, and I expect the same from you."  
  
"Impossible. Men are born knowing how to lie and they'd lie to the priest on their death-bed if they thought they could get away with it."  
  
"All men?"  
  
"All... of them."  
  
"There isn't one man you can name who you believe would always tell you the truth if he knew it meant everything to you?"  
  
Gazing intently into the solemn, azure eyes of the woman seated across from him, Mac realized she had an answer, but wouldn't surrender her choice easily. He sat silent, waiting for her to make the next move, knowing he couldn't let control of the moment pass out of his hands, but still uncertain how far he could push her before she would retreat to a place where he couldn't reach her. When he spoke again, he deliberately softened his tone and, for the first time that day, allowed a tiny amount of the genuine concern he felt for her seep into his words and his expression.  
  
"There is one, isn't there. I can see it. You want to tell me but you're terrified of betraying his trust. You think he'd turn his back on you. He won't."  
  
"Where do you get off.... you don't know a damn thing about me. If there was a man like that in my life, what the hell makes you think he wouldn't head for the hills if I said word one about him to you?"  
  
"I wouldn't. Besides. Any man strong enough to care for you would never give up that easily."  
  
"Jarod must have warned you. I take care of myself."  
  
"Of course you do. You're a competent, secure, fully grown woman." Mac agreed, standing now and pacing away from the bed. "Only children need their every scrape and knock tended to, physical or otherwise. You and I... we tend to our own bruises don't we?"  
  
"And I'm damn good at it."  
  
"Self-reliance is a marvelous gift."  
  
"Greatest one my father ever gave me. As long as I'm not counting on someone else to cover my ass, it won't get blown off."  
  
"It isn't him, though. It's not his identity you're protecting. Everyone in your world knows how it is between you two. No need to safeguard a relationship that's on public display. Well; that's one down. I will figure this out, you know."  
  
"I told you, there's....."  
  
"I know what you said. Even if there was a man...." The answer suddenly popping into his head, Macleod hid his small triumphant smile by turning away from his subject until he was able to restore his former casually interested expression. "So. Do you accept the agreement or not? Complete honesty for complete honesty."  
  
"Drop this line of questioning..... and the answer's yes."  
  
"Agreed. Tell me about your father." Macleod suggested gently as he returned to his chair.  
  
"Specify."  
  
"Anything will do. Whatever you feel like bringing up. How about your first memory of him? Or any early memories for that matter."  
  
After a long pause, her expression altering only slightly in response to the emotions the question engendered in her, Parker finally answered.  
  
"Sorry, handsome. Out of luck on that one. Never had 'em, never will. So much for psychoanalysis."  
  
"Yes, you do. You just haven't looked in the most obvious place. You aren't sure what you'll find, and that frightens you."  
  
"I fear nothing. Another one of Daddy's valuable lessons."  
  
"You fear everything. You've become a raging, passionate workaholic because you know fear is the worst enemy you'll ever face, and the only one you can't crush under your three inch stiletto heels, so you think you can intimidate it into submission."  
  
Her gaze locked rigidly with his, Parker repeated her previous statement, separating the words as if she were instructing a mentally disabled child.  
  
"I. Fear. Nothing."  
  
"You fear me. You're terrified someone will learn all your secrets before you do. You're terrified that Jarod already has."  
  
"Keep pushing. Even if I puke all over you doing it, I will rip your heart from your body with my teeth and make you swallow every last bite."  
  
Laughing quietly to himself, Macleod swiveled away from the table and pushed off, sending the chair drifting slowly backwards.  
  
"Good Lord, you have an active imagination. The fact that it's mired thigh deep in gore isn't exactly endearing, but...."  
  
"You don't really want to know what I'm imagining right now."  
  
Later pretty, later. We were discussing early memories I think."  
  
"Why don't we discuss your hearing problem, Beethoven? I told you...."  
  
"You do have them. I can prove it."  
  
"You couldn't prove piss is warm if you had transparencies and an overhead projector."  
  
"As terrified as you are of me, I'm sure you'll do that for yourself any minute now."  
Eyes widening, Parker started off the bed, intent on ripping apart her tormentor, but was slammed back by the wall between them. She was left curled in a near fetal position on the floor, cursing her luck and her traitorous body and spitting venom in Macleod's direction.  
  
"What have you two done? What the hell is happening to me?"  
  
"Hang in there. Once the alcohol and the sedative quit complicating things, it won't be so hard on you. You'll get used to it, I promise."  
  
Mac waited for Parker to pull her self together and find her way back to the bed before renewing his verbal assault. "So. Do I get to prove I'm telling the truth, or not? I'd hate to be accused of breaking our agreement."  
  
As he watched Parker recover her composure, Macleod sensed her back-pedaling. She had refused to respond, choosing instead to sit completely still and not look at him at all.  
  
Concerned about losing her completely, he immediately took a different tack; one designed to re-engage her, prevent further retreat and begin honing her innate, but still raw, skills as a Pretender, without her knowing what was happening.  
  
"Okay. New subject. Game time. Pick a room, any room you know really well. You get thirty seconds to study it in your head, then you have to describe it."  
  
"I detest games. Go play in a toxic waste dump for all I care." Parker snarled, still staring at the quilt.  
  
"Oh. So you don't give a damn what the real challenge is."  
  
Moments later, when her eyes lifted to meet his, Mac breathed a mental sigh of relief, knowing he had her back, even if only temporarily. "The hard part is, you have to picture the room the way it was five years back. The second round is a different room and ten years, and so on. You get the point. I'll go first."  
  
Closing his eyes, Mac pictured himself and Tessa still on the barge. When his past threatened to derail his present, he pulled his inner sight away from his image of her and refocused on the room, examining every object quickly but thoroughly and then describing them to Parker in minute detail.   
  
In response to his questioning eyebrows, she merely nodded yes, that she believed him and kept silent.  
  
"Your turn."  
  
Straightening, her eyes hard and calculating, Parker envisioned her office as it had appeared before Jarod's escape had tripled her daily stress load, before she'd had to deal with her brother, Raines and the Triumvirate on an almost daily basis.  
  
"My office. The desk was on the west wall, facing away from the door. The computer center was on the north wall, facing the window with the ocean view. There was a couch on the east side and two chairs opposite it, but I have no clue anymore what color they were."  
  
"You're there, remember? Just turn and look and tell me the color."  
  
After another moment or two of contemplation, eyes turned away, Parker spoke again.  
  
"Wine. I should have known. I always.... A mahogany coffee table in front of the couch and an end table by each chair, both with Lalique lamps. There was a piece or two of abstract hanging on the walls. That's all I remember."  
  
"Who were the paintings by?"  
  
"I should know? Who am I, the New York Times art critic?"  
  
"You don't know what artists you chose for your own office."  
  
"I didn't."  
  
"Didn't know or didn't choose?"  
  
Shooting him her "melt steel doors" glare, Parker refused to answer. Macleod responded without looking at her even once, focusing variously on his fingernails, the door, the floor and the wall just above and behind Parker's head.  
  
"Oh. I should have guessed. Daddy made most of the decorating decisions, didn't he? You probably hate abstract art. You're a logical, analytical, closet romantic. I'd say the impressionists are far more your speed. Maybe even Serrat. Yeah. You probably get really into big doses of linear. Abstract is for people who don't have a real strong idea of who they are. They need to see the world as being just as off-kilter and out of whack as they feel. Straightens things out for some; confirms their worldview. That's not you. You're far too blunt and honest for abstract art."  
  
When he finally went eye to eye with his subject again, Mac was momentarily thrown off his stride by the look on her face. Instead of the ice-queen glare he'd been expecting, he found an intensely interested expression in control of her features, at least for the moment. He sensed she was waiting for him to continue, and if what she heard next displeased or disappointed her, he would lose more than one level of whatever progress he had made so far.  
  
"Go on."  
  
"Shall I? How about photo-realism? That seems to appeal to the depressives, those prone to it anyway. It disturbs them to consider there being anymore light or color in the world than they themselves perceive, which isn't much. They lean toward black and white when they paint. Sometimes a little crimson or midnight blue sneaks in there, but neutral shades represent more of their idea of how things should work. Everything either is or isn't."  
  
"Is or isn't what?"  
  
"Whatever concerns them at the moment. Right or wrong, stupid decision or smart, the easy path or difficult. It's my turn isn't it? Ten years ago. God, I still had the gallery then...."  
  
Over the next fifty minutes, Macleod led an increasingly less recalcitrant Parker back through college memories and teenage angst, deftly and convincingly creating a modern past for himself when the truth became unfeasible. When he knew they were approaching the critical time period, he began to lessen the detail in his false recollections, claiming age and failing memory, until most of the burden of the game was on Parkers' shoulders.  
  
"Well. Looks like the game is called on account of memory loss on both sides."  
  
"Not necessarily. I told you I could show you where to find yours. Up for it?"  
  
"Absolutely. I can't wait to see you produce something I know damn well doesn't exist."  
  
"Good. Step one is to close your eyes. Step two; visualize yourself looking in a full-length mirror. Instead of the adult you see every day, the reflected image is of a young girl, maybe seven or eight years old. Got it?"  
  
When Parker nodded, Mac continued. "Alright. Now eliminate the mirror, but hold tight to that image. Don't try to see her as being anywhere yet. It's just you and her in a dark empty space. All you can see now is her face. Just her face. There's nothing else. Give me the first word you connect with that face. Don't think, don't analyze, just say it."  
  
"Tears."  
  
"Whose?"  
  
"Hers. She's sobbing, wailing."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"She's terrified. Someone she tru.... she's trapped, locked in. Her heart is racing and breaking at the same time and she's afraid it will drive her insane."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"She saw something, something.... horrific. Now she can't get out and she can't stop seeing it. She's so afraid of this place, but she scares herself more. The person who.... they make her feel...."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. She can't reconcile hating someone she loved and trusted so completely. she wants more than out. She wants to ask them why."  
  
"Out?"  
  
"Out of that tiny room, out of the dark, out of the way she's feeling. Out of the nightmare.... someone dumped her in."  
  
"How?"  
  
"She's finally realized that screaming and crying aren't getting her anywhere. She's sitting on the floor. Too quiet, too pale. She still believes that someone will be back for her."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Noone has. It's been three days. She's had no food, no water except what she was able to scrounge. She doesn't really know what's going on anymore. She's losing touch with reality. The door opens. It scares her so much she crab-crawls into a corner to hide. She's...."  
  
"What?"  
  
"She gave up hope of ever seeing anyone. She's petrified of.... whoever has come to rescue her."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"It's too bright, Her eyes can't adjust fast enough...."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"I told you, she doesn't know. She's being held.... too tightly. She fights like a demon."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"I said...."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"She can't see...."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"I couldn't see, damn you! How was I supposed to know if I couldn't see!?"  
  
For the briefest moment, Macleod remained perfectly still, allowing the change of pronoun to impact her conscious mind, then stood and moved for the door, leaving her a final thought as he exited.  
  
"If I were you, love, I'd take a closer look at your "convenient" lack of early memories.... and who it's most convenient for."  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	4. Chapter 4

Part 1/Chapter 4  
  
"It has to be done, Jarod. We can't just ignore this opening when she dropped it right in our laps. Now that this has come to light, it changes the finale totally. We have the foothold most likely to break her down and bring back her full memory. We've come too far to walk away now."  
  
"I don't agree. It's too severe. It'll push her so far down she won't have a way back. She'll end up suffering a psychotic break or maybe even slip into MPD. It's happened before."  
  
"I know it has. I've seen it. I even caused it once or twice when I was naive and had no idea what messing with the human mind could do. I'm not that young anymore, Jarod. Trust me. Please trust me a little longer."  
  
"This crosses the line. I won't allow her to be hurt."  
  
"I would never hurt her. The idea is to help her become what she was meant to be and get the hunters off your trail, at least for a while. Let me do what I think is necessary, the way I feel I have to do it."  
  
"Necessity and cruelty aren't that far apart...."  
  
"Listen to him, son. He's usually right."  
  
Spinning at the sound of an unexpected voice, Jarod tensed, his eyes narrowing and darkening, his body poised for flight or counterattack whichever might become necessary. Seeing Methos, he instantly relaxed, striding to greet and embrace the friend he hadn't seen in weeks. Macleod, however, wasn't nearly as enthused.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"Good to see you too, Mac. Hi, Jarod."   
  
"I'm so glad you decided to come. I've missed our talks."  
  
"Me too. Let me settle in and maybe...."  
  
"You haven't answered the question." Macleod reminded his friend.  
  
"Vegas was thoroughly disappointing. Too many doves and not enough birds. Magicians everywhere. Town has turned into a damn theme park."  
  
Confused by Methos' words, Jarod turned and looked at Macleod.  
  
"Bird is British slang for a woman."  
  
"Ohhh."  
  
"I thought you wanted nothing to do with this. For the third time; why are you here?"  
  
"You know why."  
  
His expression darkening further, Mac broke in before the other man could continue.  
  
"I thought so. Out. You and your luggage, get out. I'm doing fine on my own and the last thing I need is you sticking your well preserved nose in."  
  
"Just the type of comment I'd expect from an infant." Methos retorted as he dropped his bags by the kitchen door and vanished in search of a beer.  
  
"I did not just hear you say that. You know so much better than to go there...."  
  
Intent on loosening a few ancient teeth, Macleod started for the spot where Methos had disappeared, but was halted by the solid grip of Jarod's hand on his forearm.  
  
"We don't have time for this. Butting heads with each other will just get us migraines. Let him have his jet-lag tantrum. We do need him. He's probably forgotten more about the human mind than you or I ever knew. He can help."  
  
Slowly, Mac released a deep breath, and with it, his brief flare of irritation. Glancing quickly at the monitor, he began to realize how much more comfortable he'd be executing the final act of their script with Methos around to back him up in case of emergency or monumental screw up on his part.  
  
Grimacing, Methos re-entered the living room, gingerly carrying a beer bottle with the fingertips of his left hand and massaging his right temple with the other.  
  
"God. Never again. Commercial airlines treat you like dustbin rejects. Next time I charter and fly it myself."  
  
"Trash dumpster." Macleod explained, before Jarod could ask.  
  
Dropping into a recliner, Methos looked from one to the other, then grinned.  
  
"I really hope this innocence and trust disease he has isn't contagious. I catch it and a forty year old chihuahua with arthritis could take my head."  
  
"Don't knock it until you've come down with it." Macleod advised. "I happen to like how it feels. Jarod and I have even discussed me taking a few of my established identities and joining him on the road for a few months. It's past time I took a break from the game and did some real good again."  
  
"You can't be serious."  
  
"Wait and see. So. Will you stay?"  
  
For several moments, Methos sat quietly sipping his beer and considering Macleod's request.   
  
"I could get her over the really rough bits."  
  
"You could, but the way she reacts to us, we'd be better off saving you for the finale."  
  
"Are you talking about what was going on in your session with her today?" Jarod interjected, his expression open and intensely curious as it always was when he anticipated learning some new fact about Immortal life.  
  
"Right. You remember I explained how Immortals know when another of us is around?"  
  
"Of course. Wait. You can't be saying...."  
  
"No. I'm certain she's not even a potential Immortal. What she is, is sensitive to the difference between us and the rest of the world, and far more aware of Methos than me, from how he tells it. She already has a mild hangover thanks to the chloroform and nine-tenths of a bottle of wine. Every time I get too close, the awareness signal kicks in and pushes her headache and nausea into the red zone."  
  
"It only stands to reason. He's been alive so much longer that his signal would be amplified and bass boosted compared to yours."  
  
"Hey." Methos interrupted, "I don't care if you talk as if I'm not sitting right here, but can't you do it without bringing up my age?"  
  
"I can't believe you're still hung up on that. You're Immortal for God's sake. What does age have to do with anything?"  
  
"I feel it here." the other man replied irritably, placing a finger on his forehead. "I've seen too damn much. The years weigh more with every one I see go out. I'm tired."  
  
"God! Go to bed and take your black hole mood with you. You've got me ready to put a gun to my head."  
  
"Not until I get something in my stomach."  
  
Grinning, Mac couldn't pass up an opportunity to needle his old friend and give himself a laugh as well.  
  
"Still can't hack airline food, old man?"  
  
"I refuse to consume anything that looks like it got caught in the engines on a previous flight. And I said watch the "old man" cracks. Have you two decided how this thing is going to end, by the way?"  
  
"Not really. I discovered something earlier today that could be the key to unlocking her, but Jarod thinks using it would be going too far."  
  
Turning to Jarod, who had perched on the edge of the sofa not far from Macleod, Methos merely raised his eyebrows, waiting for the younger man to explain. Jarod's only response was to rise, walk into the kitchen and proceed to bash the cooking pots and pans around as he began to make a late supper for the four of them.   
  
"Oops. Not going to get it from him am I? You talk."  
  
"According to what she gave up today, they.... he threw her in one of the Pretender cells at some point just after her mother was killed and left her in there for over seventy-two hours with no food and only a little water."  
  
"Three days?! Lord! she was only, what.... seven?"  
  
"Eight, I think. Jarod was younger. The more I understand about what mortals are capable of doing to their own children, the less I understand why you and I.... how the hell could he do it?"  
  
"Are we thinking about the same he?"  
  
"She wouldn't say it out loud, but it had to be Daddy Dearest. He must have given in to the bastards and handed his own child over...."  
  
"He would have had no choice, Mac. They'd already terminated his wife, and with extreme prejudice yet. He would have been no harder to sacrifice."  
  
"What baffles me is, I think he was the one that came and got her out. He puts her in there and then pulls her away again? I don't get it."  
  
"He's the only one who could answer that. So what does all this have to do with the end of this elaborate little production?"  
  
"I want to put her through it all again; the darkness, the hunger and thirst, the panic. I'm hoping it will open the floodgates and she'll remember everything they took from her."  
  
"Good God, Mac. Let's be brutal why don't we?"  
  
"Brutal it might be, but I'm convinced it will work."  
  
"Yeah. Done right and really, really, carefully. Done wrong it could leave her with a permanently fogged windshield."  
  
"I won't let that happen."  
  
"You don't want it to happen. There's a world of difference there." Methos reminded his friend, wincing as a pot crashed particularly loudly in the kitchen. "Well. I think I upset him. Better go make it up or get rat poison in my stroganoff."  
  
"Good thinking. Methos."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What do we do for her when she does remember?"  
  
"Nothing to do. She'll handle it, and God help the Centre when she decides how."  
  
"Not likely He'll bother."  
  
"Agreed." Methos said, smiling lightly as he walked off. Entering the kitchen, he moved cautiously, eyes open for flying steak knives and dishes.  
  
"Jarod?"  
  
"You don't need to apologize. It's me. I wasn't allowed genuine emotions for a very long time. Now that I'm able to explore them, the negative ones sneak up on me sometimes. I'm sorry."  
  
"Me too. Mac explained why it's a touchy subject."  
  
"I care about what happens to her. The purpose of all this is to help her. How can torture possibly fulfill that purpose? How can I justify it?"  
  
"How could her father allow it in the first place? At least we're trying to undo some of the damage that.... toxic, abhorrent mental illness factory has done to her. Sometimes pain and suffering, in the name of a right cause, are acceptable, Jarod. They stole her childhood and her soul just as much as they did yours. We have a moral duty to try to help her find them again."  
  
"But I haven't even got all the pieces of myself back yet. It's like they're.... hostages in this pitch black place that I can't get to. I keep hoping I'll feel a little more whole with every person I help, every person I keep from the darkness. Instead, I feel like I'm losing myself to it, and I'm not strong enough to fight back. Who saves the savior, Methos?"  
  
"An age old question, my friend."  
  
"And the answer?"  
  
"No clue. Haven't given it enough thought. Never saw myself as a particularly heroic person, I suppose."  
  
"Just doing what you and Macleod did at the Centre was more heroics than most people will see in a lifetime."  
  
"That was nothing like bravery. It's not all that brave to risk getting a bullet in the back when you know you'll be getting up in ten minutes."  
  
"I meant risking the scientists finding out what you are. You went there knowing that if they discovered...."  
  
"Oh. That."  
  
"Sorry. Votre (your)touchy subject. Oui?"  
  
"Oui. Votre pardon."  
  
"Mais, non. Nous tout a un cent d'eux. (No. we all have a hundred of them.) At least I do, but then, considering...."   
  
Laughing gently at the sudden change of language and the ease with which Jarod switched from one to the other, Methos reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair away from the other man's forehead.  
  
"You never cease to amaze me, son. We can't do this without you. You know that. Mac's scheme may be tough on her, but it will work. If we plan it to the last detail and then some, it will do exactly what he says it will."  
  
"It could also...."  
  
"I know all that too. In the name of a right cause, remember?"  
  
"I understand the logic of going ahead with this. She and I were so close as children.... as much as I hate what she's done to me in the past year or two, I don't hate her. I never could stand to see her in pain."  
  
"She's in pain right now. She just doesn't know it. We can heal that."  
  
His brow furrowed, eyes closed, Jarod held very still and poured all of himself into the decision, incorporating all the strong, honorable, moral essentials Sydney had tried to instill in him, despite the Centre's influence. When he lifted his head, Methos could instantly see that the younger man had made a hard choice. He began to hope he knew which side of the barbed wire Jarod had landed on.  
  
"There are things we can't do for her; things she'll have to heal for herself."  
  
"I know. Trust, hope, unconditional love. Once those are stolen it's a hell of a fight to get them back, but I think you'll both do it eventually. You're certainly strong enough."  
  
"Both of us? I don't have any illusions about how far I still have to go, but I've done some serious healing since...."  
  
"We'll discuss that later, when she can participate. Are you in or out?"  
  
After another long silence, during which Methos' hope began to fade, Jarod agreed. "Thank you. It's the right choice."  
  
"I hope so. Now out of my kitchen. Masters create in solitude."  
  
"Masters? Knowing what I do about you, I can't wait to taste this meal."  
  
Suddenly, Macleod burst into the kitchen, his face a mass of fluctuating emotions.  
  
"The monitor.... you two have got to come. You won't believe this!"  
  
Methos didn't hesitate, never having witnessed such an expression on the Scot's face before. Dropping the utensils he held, Jarod was off nearly as fast. When they reached the monitor, Methos and Jarod stared at it, and then each other, and both silently proclaimed Macleod the Eternal Emperor of understatement.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


End file.
